


Never Planned On Falling In Love

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, men who don't talk about their feelings, secret santa gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:55:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Back when he first signed up for the Rangers, Face had a long list of plans for his future. Big plans. He wanted to be the best and the brightest, and he wanted to prove to everyone who had ever doubted him or put him down that he was worth something after all. </p>
<p>Having sex with his CO was never part of those plans, but it really was just sex. Nothing more than a much-needed release valve. He never planned on it being anything more than that, and he didn’t think for a moment that Hannibal had planned it either. </p>
<p>Until suddenly it was something very much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Planned On Falling In Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [indigo (indigo_angels)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/gifts).



> Written as a gift for the lovely Indigo Angels in the A-Team Secret Santa over at the H/F Yahoo group.

Back when he first signed up for the Rangers, Face had a long list of plans for his future. Big plans. He wanted to be the best and the brightest, and he wanted to prove to every son of a bitch who had ever doubted him or put him down that he was worth something after all. He also wanted to make a difference with his life, though he never said that out loud, by doing something that really mattered.

Having sex with his CO was never part of those plans. Particularly not having sex with his brand-new CO, barely a few weeks after meeting him, and especially not after the conclusion of his very first mission with the man’s team. A successful conclusion, thankfully, and afterwards Face felt that perhaps he could blame the adrenaline for his lapse in judgement.

He’d never wanted to be the type of Ranger who slept his way to the top. He’d heard the rumours, of course, knew it happened and knew the opportunities were there if he ever grew desperate enough. But that wasn’t for him. Face wanted to earn his promotions the hard way. He knew he’d get there; he was more than good enough.

If he had been planning to sleep his way to the top, though, then Colonel John ‘Hannibal’ Smith would certainly have been the man to start with. And perhaps even the man to end with.

Hannibal was strikingly handsome, and even gorgeous in that particularly masculine sort of way that always threatened to leave Face gawping open-mouthed whenever the colonel passed by. He was tall and lean, yet still powerfully muscled like a jungle cat, and had the most wickedly bright blue eyes Face had ever seen – eyes which could surely have tempted stronger men than Face to sin.

Still, Face really never had planned on anything actually happening between them, though he may have allowed himself a daydream or two. Having a bit of a crush on your CO as a baby Ranger, just like a lovesick teenager, was all surely just par for the course, and Face had always resigned himself to keeping his head down, working hard, and ignoring that twinge of lust he felt in his belly whenever he looked at Hannibal. He could sleep off any resultant frustration with the women both on base and off, as well as finding the occasional man in the backrooms of darkened clubs when that particular need grew too much to bear. 

Face couldn’t help feeling that it was almost a cliché, then, when he ended up on his knees on a rumpled sleeping bag with his hand shoved down Hannibal’s cargo pants, and Hannibal’s own huge hand wrapped tightly around Face’s cock in return. 

* * *

They fall on each other as soon as the tent flaps snap closed behind them, high on adrenaline and survival and the sheer joy of being alive. There is nothing tender in the way Hannibal tears at Face’s shirt before fumbling at his flies, and Face gives back as good as he gets as he scrabbles at Hannibal’s own clothing with greedy hands.

They exchange sharp, hard kisses which feel more like bites than any sign of passion, and Face loves it, needs it, wants it so badly after they’ve all barely walked away from this cluster-fuck of a mission. They have walked away, though, and they’ll be back at base tomorrow. Tonight is a well-earned celebration.

“You don’t have to do this, kid,” Hannibal gasps between bites, as they drop to their knees heavily almost in unison. “Not an obligation, not part of being on my team. Not expected of you. But god, I want this.”

“Shut up, Hannibal, and don’t you fucking dare stop,” Face hisses in both agreement and encouragement, just before he loses the ability to speak entirely as Hannibal’s hand finally slips inside his briefs and squeezes his achingly-hard cock, his grip just the right side of too-tight.

Two can play at that game, he decides as he finally gets his hands into Hannibal’s pants and draws out his prize – good god, the man is huge – and starts to stroke in rhythm with the hand holding him. He realises almost immediately that it won’t take long, with both of them far too worked up to drag this out, but there is time enough for more not-quite-kissing, and grunting and moaning, and biting their lips in an effort to keep quiet. The rest of their team aren’t far away, tucked up in their own tents or out on patrol, and it is that thought as much as the perfect twist and pull of Hannibal’s strong hand that finally tilts Face over the edge all too quickly.

His grip on Hannibal tightens in spasm as he spends himself all over both the colonel’s hand and the floor of the tent, and even in the haze of orgasm Face is savagely pleased that Hannibal has to bite a mouthful of Face’s filthy t-shirt to muffle his own cry of release.

In the sticky, sated aftermath they clean each other up silently, both panting a bit breathlessly, and Face can’t quite manage to wipe the satisfied grin from his lips as he offers Hannibal a cloth from his pack. In the dim light of the tent he meets Hannibal’s bright blue gaze, and the colonel smiles an equally satisfied grin right back at him, and Face knows in his gut that they’re all good.

* * *

Face certainly never planned on it happening a second time, with everything going so much farther than before. He’d figured it was a one-time deal, a heat of the moment thing, never to be repeated – neither of them had ever brought up the subject of what had happened in that tent, not even the morning after the night before, though Face thought he might have caught glimpses of a question in Hannibal’s eyes from time to time.

Almost as if the colonel had wanted to ask something of Face, but couldn’t find the words.

Face had always assumed his CO was rightly concerned about the possibility of being hauled in front of a DADT enquiry, which only made him all the more determined never to bring it up again. The last thing he wanted was to make his new boss uncomfortable, or to risk an enquiry himself for that matter, and it really had been amazing while it lasted. 

He threw himself back into his job instead, learning all the tricks they never taught you in Ranger school. Learned his way around an FOB, learned who to talk to if you wanted a crate of beer or the latest new release on DVD or a spare part for a tank. Learned just much he still had to learn, and was glad he was one of the lucky ones who had the chance to learn it all from Hannibal Smith.

Face hadn’t exactly been pining for Hannibal’s touch, either, even if that one mutual hand-job with both of them high on life had been far better than any of the anonymous fucks he’d had in the weeks after. He’d fantasised a little bit about that one amazing night, though, and dreamed about what might have happened if they hadn’t been in a tent surrounded by their teammates, with no supplies. 

Fantasised about those huge hands of Hannibal’s gripping his arms tightly, manoeuvring him firmly into position before seizing his hips. Imagined long, thick fingers pressing him open, taking charge in the way surely only a colonel ever could.

So he certainly didn’t argue when the opportunity suddenly arose, after a party back at Benning in Hannibal’s tiny off-base house.

* * *

“Are you drunk, kid?” Hannibal asks as they stumble through the door to what Face realises must be the colonel’s own bedroom, their lips locked together and hands fighting to peel off whatever articles of clothing they can reach.

Face gasps a laugh as he pulls back just far enough to haul his own t-shirt over his head, throwing it away over his shoulder before attacking Hannibal’s. “Not drunk enough that you should feel you’re taking advantage, boss,” he reassures the older man, dropping his head to suck a deep bruise into a muscled chest, relishing the deep groan Hannibal lets slip.

They break apart long enough to strip completely, Face having to drop to his knees when his pants get tangled in his goddamn boots for a ridiculous few minutes, and when he finally stands up again a naked Hannibal just tackles him straight onto the bed, falling with Face to land on top. There is a little more tenderness in the way they kiss this time around, and just as before it is absolutely exactly what Face needs. 

The kissing could happily carry on forever as far as Face is concerned, but all too soon he finds himself turned and encouraged up onto his hands and knees as Hannibal reaches over him to retrieve something from the bedside table. “That’d better be what I hope it is, sir,” he drawls, and again Hannibal groans deeply at his words just before a wonderfully slick finger penetrates Face with no warning at all, and it is Face’s turn to groan.

“Say that again, brat,” Hannibal growls, working Face open quickly yet carefully. 

“Sir,” he gasps obediently, and Hannibal rewards him with another finger, and another cool rush of slick pressed deep inside. “Oh, please, sir, just fuck me already.”

It goes fast after that, both of them strangely desperate for each other’s touch, and though it is right on the edge of too-hard and too-fast for Face, with everything still just a little too-tight, he finds himself quickly soaring towards orgasm as Hannibal finds his sweet spot with that huge cock of his, drilling it repeatedly. No need for either of them to be silent this time, and Face screams out his release just a few seconds before Hannibal stiffens and bellows in answer. 

Afterwards, it should be awkward but somehow it isn’t. Their mutual clean-up is as silent as the first time, though Hannibal’s big hands are gentle as he carefully wipes Face’s tender ass and upper thighs with a warm, damp flannel. Face feels almost as if he should thank the other man, but that really would make it awkward, so instead he just climbs back into his clothes, watching as Hannibal does the same.

He won’t stay. Hannibal doesn’t strike him as the sort of man who expects any sort of cuddling or spooning after a quick yet satisfying fuck like that, and sure enough the colonel just offers him a slightly lopsided smile as Face finishes buckling his belt.

“You all set, kid?” Hannibal buries his hands in his pockets, ducks his head in a gesture that strikes Face as uncharacteristically nervous. “You know, that was – ”

“That was fucking brilliant, boss.” Face swallows hard, takes his chance, and steps forward to press a very quick kiss to the taller man’s cheek. “Any time you fancy another round, call me.” And with a wink and a smile of his own, he heads out into the night.

* * *

He’d hoped there would be repeat performances, but the third time still caught him by surprise, as did the fourth. And the fifth, for that matter, though after the sixth time he stopped counting, and stopped being surprised. Hannibal never called him – not for sex, at least – yet they somehow seemed to find their way together just when they both needed it the most.

Face tried never to read too much into it. It was just sex, surely, for both of them. Fucking amazing sex, admittedly, but nothing more than a much-needed release valve. The lives they led were difficult and dangerous, and Face was rapidly becoming addicted to the rush and crash of adrenaline that seemed to characterise life in the Rangers. 

The job was every bit what he’d hoped for when he signed up, and Hannibal really was the perfect team leader for him to learn from. He thought he’d found his niche specialising in logistics and supplies, then Hannibal encouraged him to develop his natural talents with a sniper rifle, and in the blink of an eye he was Hannibal’s XO, a full lieutenant with training responsibilities of his own within the team.

The years went by rapidly, and Face turned down numerous transfer opportunities even as other soldiers rotated in and out of their team, choosing to stay by his colonel’s side and continue learning from the man. Whatever else there may or may not be between them, Hannibal was a brilliant Ranger and a true inspiration, and Face simply couldn’t imagine working with any other CO.

The sex continued, on and off, sometimes a few times a week and at other times not for months on end. Sometimes it was just a blow job, or a hurried mutual jerk-off in the showers, and occasionally they had the time for what Face thought of as ‘the full monty’. And they never talked about it, not even once in all those years. It was always hard and fast, often without even enough time for either of them to get completely naked, and more often than not it was in complete silence with other soldiers dangerously close by. It was just sex, Face told himself over and over again. Nothing more than sex.

He never planned on it being anything more than that, and he didn’t think for a moment that Hannibal had planned it either. 

Until suddenly it was something very much more.

* * *

He should be asleep, but even as drugged up on painkillers as he is, Face is still wide awake enough to hear the soft footsteps outside and gentle knock on his bedroom door. “Yeah?” he croaks, coughing once to clear his throat, then wincing slightly when the action jars his cracked and bruised ribs. “What’s up?”

“Face?” The door opens just wide enough to allow Hannibal to slip inside, closing again immediately and plunging the room back into darkness. “Sorry. I just wanted to check how you were doing. Did I wake you?”

Face shakes his head before realising Hannibal probably can’t see it. “Can’t sleep,” he admits quietly. “Too wired, even with these damn meds.”

Hannibal chuckles softly, and Face feels the mattress dip slightly as his colonel perches close by his side. “They’re supposed to help you rest. You need to rest.” A warm hand finds Face’s forehead and strokes gently back into his messy curls, carefully avoiding the lump by his right ear. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

It had been a close call, one of the closest in a long time. Lives had been lost on all sides, though that alone wouldn’t be enough to keep Face awake, even with the lingering pain of his injuries, and he shrugs, forgetting again that the other man can’t see him. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” Suddenly he feels strangely close to tears, glad of the darkness, and Hannibal’s hand is still stroking his head. “Boss, could you…?”

“What, Face? What do you need?” 

He needs Hannibal to stay, and somehow Hannibal seems to realise that. In this quiet spare bedroom in Hannibal’s tiny house, the colonel lifts up the blankets and slides beneath, carefully moulding his long body to Face’s side. One strong arm snakes beneath Face’s pillows as the other glides gently across his stomach, mindful of all his bruises and scrapes, and one leg slides between Face’s own.

Face sighs gratefully, feeling his tension starting to slip away already as rest finally feels within his reach, cradled close in warm arms and protected from the world. “Hannibal, I…”

“Hush now, kid. I’m here.” A feather-light touch of lips to his temple. “Go to sleep.” 

* * *

Face never expected that things would change between them after that night, and, sure enough, for the most part they didn’t. For the very first time it had been about comfort rather than just sex, and that night turned out to be the first of many in which they shared a real bed without doing anything more than holding each other, but he and Hannibal had been working together for more than three years by that point and they never felt the need to speak about it. 

The large team of Rangers surrounding them had fallen away one by one until it was just the two of them, specialising in their own particular brand of near-impossible intelligence missions, and Face told himself it was inevitable that the two of them should grow closer without words ever being necessary.

They didn’t need words, more often than not – Face knew he could charm the birds down from the trees if he ever wanted to, but with Hannibal he was completely comfortable just sitting in silence, shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee by a campfire in the middle of nowhere. A bit of mutual comfort after dark didn’t change that.

Things didn’t change much after Mexico either, though perhaps it took BA’s questioning gaze to make Face aware of exactly how close he really did sit to Hannibal. One night in the middle of nowhere Murdock even went so far as to ask him outright if there was something going on between him and their colonel, hurrying on to add that of course he’d be just fine with it if there was – Face simply denied everything point-blank, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt when he realised Hannibal was close enough to hear their conversation.

DADT was still a threat, after all, and even though Face had trusted his two new teammates almost from the very first moment they’d met, he wouldn’t ever ask them to lie for him about something like this. And it wasn’t as though he and Hannibal were ‘going steady’ or ‘seeing each other’. It was still just sex, for both of them, if you ignored the way they spooned up close together on cold nights, or held each other tightly after particularly dangerous missions.

Just sex, if you ignored the way the bottom dropped out of Face’s world when he heard that Hannibal had been killed.

* * *

“It was quick, Lieutenant.” Russell Morrison’s voice is steady, even though his face is grey and his eyes haunted. “He wouldn’t have known anything about it.”

It’s a feeble attempt to reassure him, and almost certainly not true, though a distant part of Face appreciates the effort. He has to swallow hard in an effort to avoid throwing up his dinner all over the general’s highly polished boots as his stomach turns over threateningly. “Right,” he manages eventually. “And they’re sure it was him, sir?”

Morrison nods, his eyes apologetic. “He signed out the jeep himself, and we have eyewitnesses that confirm he was driving when he left the base. Formal ID will have to wait for the autopsy, though, since the body was too badly burned to be recognisable.”

Face feels sick again at the general’s words, and strangely dizzy and weak. A drunk driver. Hannibal deserved so much more than to be side-swiped by a drunk driver, his jeep forced off the road before striking a tree and bursting into flames. A ruptured fuel line, they think, though Face couldn’t care less about the details. Hannibal is really gone – how is that even possible?

He doesn’t remember leaving Morrison’s office, nor stumbling his way back through the base. He vaguely registers the dozen soldiers who call out their apologies to him – news of Colonel Smith’s untimely death seems to have spread fast – though he doesn’t stop moving until he finally lets himself in through the back door of Hannibal’s little off-base house.

Standing in the darkness of Hannibal’s kitchen, Face feels the first sting of tears prickling at the back of his eyes, his throat tightening and his chest aching. There are things he should be doing right now as Hannibal’s XO, of course, including finding BA and Murdock. They’ll almost certainly have heard the news by now, he knows, but it’s his responsibility to take care of them now that Hannibal… Now Hannibal is d…

He can’t even think the word. It isn’t possible, and it isn’t fair. Not Hannibal. Not after everything they’ve been through together. Not now. Not like this.

His mobile phone starts to ring, and Face quickly turns it off before he realises quite what he’s done. The first tears start to track down his cheeks as he slips quietly through the dark and silent house, ignoring the landline as it starts to ring urgently, up the stairs and into Hannibal’s bedroom. He strips down to his boxers on autopilot as he swallows down a sob and slides beneath the covers, pulling the blankets up high over his head. Hannibal’s familiar scent surrounds him, tobacco and coffee and gunpowder, and Face can almost forget that the general had ever called him in.

Can almost imagine he can hear Hannibal’s familiar footsteps on the stairs.

“Face, are you here?” Can almost believe he hears Hannibal calling his name. “Face? Kid?” 

But it can’t be. “Hannibal?” Face sits up quickly, struggling his way out from beneath the blankets just as the lights come on, and his heart nearly breaks cleanly in two as he imagines he sees Hannibal standing in the doorway, pale and ghostly. Face is hallucinating, obviously, and that’s not good.

“I just heard what happened, kid.” The hallucinated Hannibal is across the room in two strides, big hands coming up to cup Face’s cheeks gently. Face jerks back at the touch – a hallucination couldn’t do that, right? “I heard what they told you. I swapped vehicles with Major Jackson in town, didn’t call it in. I should’ve done. I’m so sorry, Face. I’m here. I’m alive.”

Face tries to shake his head, but finds himself held immobile. “You’re dead,” he gasps, his voice sounding alien to his own ears. “Morrison said – ”

Hannibal kisses him hard, swallowing his words, though those hands remain gentle as his thumbs stroke tenderly across Face’s cheekbones. And Face finally realises that this is no hallucination. His man is really here, really alive.

And as Hannibal guides him back down into the bed, kissing him over and over and over, there is nothing more either of them feel they have to say.

* * *

Things did change between them after that night. At least, Face felt deep down that things had changed for him, even if perhaps not for Hannibal. It took several days for him to process everything he’d been through and everything he’d felt in those few horrific hours when he’d thought Hannibal was dead, and it wasn’t until after poor Major Jackson’s funeral that he actually realised.

It really wasn’t just sex, not anymore. Not even just about comfort and being close to another human being.

It hadn’t been just about sex for a very long while, now he took the time to think about it. Face had come to rely on Hannibal’s constant presence at all times, and he’d never consciously realised until then just how much he needed the other man by his side. He still got a rush of lust deep in his stomach every time he laid eyes on Hannibal, just as he had the very first time he saw his colonel all those years ago, although now that rush was tempered by a feeling that everything was somehow right with his world just because the older man was there.

Those bright blue eyes were still the most beautiful thing Face had ever seen, and that tall, strong body was the most perfect display of masculinity he’d ever known, though now Face saw through that handsome exterior to the kind, generous, brilliant man underneath. The sex was still breath-taking, and the orgasms plentiful, but now Face found he relished the more precious and rare moments between explosions and gunfights when they could just cuddle up next to each other, Hannibal’s strong arm wrapped around Face’s waist to keep him close.

Face should have seen it coming, but he’d never looked for it, and never expected it. It blindsided him completely and almost left him gasping for breath with the realisation of what he’d done.

Face had never planned on falling in love with Hannibal.

But.

* * *

Another day, another desert, another impossible mission. Impossible for anyone but Hannibal and his team, at least, and after nearly eight years as a foursome Face takes a deep pride in their well-earned reputation. They’ve made camp for the night and everything is due to kick off in the morning, and so once again Face is sharing a tent with Hannibal. 

Tomorrow’s plans are going round and round in Face’s mind, including all the last minute complications that might rear their ugly heads, and so he barely registers the familiar sounds of Hannibal moving around him to zip their sleeping bags together. Temperatures drop rapidly in the desert at night, after all, and so it’s perfectly acceptable for them to spoon up in anticipation of things getting chilly. 

Not that Murdock or BA would give a damn, of course, since they’ve long since figured out that it’s far better not to ask about the exact nature of the relationship between their CO and XO.

“So, are you planning a hot date when we get back this weekend, kid?” Hannibal murmurs against the back of Face’s neck as he climbs into the shared sleeping bags and moves as close as he can. “I remember that redhead from medical catching your eye last time we were back on base. You taking her out on the town?”

The redhead had seemed lovely, certainly, but Face has found he just isn’t interested in anyone else any more. He still has a reputation as a ladies’ man to keep up, of course – a reputation that protects all of them, and has proven invaluable over the years – but he hasn’t actually had sex with anyone other than Hannibal for months now. Not since the night Face had thought he’d lost the other man forever, and realised how much he loves him.

“Nah.” Face shrugs, allowing himself to be moved around in the sleeping bags as Hannibal twines those long limbs of his around Face’s body, knotting them together tightly. “Think I’ll be knackered after this mission, and she looked like she’d be too much hard work for me.” 

Hannibal chuckles softly. “Another quiet weekend in then, huh?” And yes, Face thinks with a pang of longing, that would be perfect. Just the two of them, curled up together back in Hannibal’s little house. The house that feels more like a home to Face than his own tiny studio apartment, and has done for years, just because Hannibal is there.

“Sounds like a plan,” Face whispers happily, before stifling a pleased little groan as Hannibal’s hand finds its way inside his underwear. 

* * *

Face had never planned on falling in love, either with Hannibal or with anyone else, but in hindsight it all seemed inevitable. He didn’t waste any time trying to figure out the exact moment when he’d lost his heart, since that felt strangely pointless, though he couldn’t help but wonder if it had been around the time nearly a year earlier when he’d last sucked off an anonymous stranger in the alley behind a gay club in Germany, finding it so completely unfulfilling and missing Hannibal so desperately. 

Or perhaps it had even been before his disastrous attempt at building what he’d stupidly thought could be a ‘real relationship’ with Charissa Sosa, who had turned out to be nothing but a cold-hearted bitch who had left him to crawl gladly back into Hannibal’s waiting arms.

Whenever it was that he’d actually fallen in love with the man, Face found himself looking at Hannibal through different eyes now he did know, noticing all the tiny gestures his colonel made every day. Gestures that made him wonder if the other man might possibly love him in return, though he tried not to hope.

There was the way Hannibal’s hand would come to rest gently on the small of Face’s back to guide him through a doorway, his touch warm and reassuring, and the bright smile that only seemed to really light up Hannibal’s handsome features when Face said something particularly clever.

There was the tender way Hannibal held Face close in bed, and the rougher, more desperate way he reached for Face when he woke from a rare nightmare, always trusting that Face would be there. 

There were a thousand little signs, but still they never talked about it. How could Face possibly broach the subject now, after more than a decade of what he’d thought was just casual sex? How could he possibly ask if Hannibal was in love with him too?

Besides, they really didn’t do that. They were grown men, hardened and battle-scarred Rangers rather than heartsick teenagers, and it wasn’t a conversation Face could ever imagine going well between the two of them.

Just knowing his own feelings was somehow more than enough for the time being, and to his surprise Face found he really was happy with the way his life was going. He had a job he adored and a team he was fiercely proud of, and he got to spend nearly every minute of every day with the man he loved and had loved for years. 

He never made a big song-and-dance out of the fact that he’d stopped sleeping around or dating anyone else, though he was still sure that Hannibal must have noticed. Hannibal saw everything, after all. Murdock and BA had certainly noticed, though for once they had somehow known not to make a fuss or to try teasing Face about it in any way, shape or form.

Life was nearly perfect, in fact. Too perfect. Face should’ve known it couldn’t last, but he never saw it coming. He should have seen it coming.

* * *

“I love you.” 

It’s the first time Face has ever said those three little words to Hannibal, and he feels a thrum of excitement somewhere deep in his chest, his heartrate picking up speed at his own daring. He has his eyes tightly closely, and his hand wrapped around Hannibal’s, and if he doesn’t ever open his eyes then he can imagine they are back in the master bedroom in Hannibal’s little house, where Face sleeps more often than not now when they are home from deployment.

But he has to open his eyes eventually, sadly, and when he does Face blinks fast to clear his vision, praying without any real hope that the sight before him will have changed. 

“Hannibal?” Nothing, not even a twitch. Those blue eyes Face loves so much are closed now, and have remained closed ever since Hannibal came out of surgery earlier that afternoon. He sighs sadly. “Oh, boss.”

The doctors are saying all the right things. No sign of infection. All healing well already. Just a reaction to the anaesthetic. He’ll probably wake up tomorrow and wonder what all the fuss is about. 

Face just wants to scream, or cry, though instead he settles for saying again the words he promised himself he’d never utter out loud. “I love you, Hannibal. I’m in love with you, damn it.”

His voice is little more than a whisper. It has to be this way; Hannibal is in a private room, thankfully, though they are still in the middle of a military hospital. Face has had to call in several hard-earned favours just to be allowed to sit here in the room with his CO, and he can’t afford to be thrown out for any reason. He can’t let himself be dragged away from the man he loves, not while he is so vulnerable.

It’s not a natural look on Hannibal Smith. Face has rarely seen the man so still, and it doesn’t sit right with him at all. Even asleep Hannibal normally looks as if he could spring into action at any given moment, but right now Hannibal is most definitely unconscious rather than merely sleeping. There is not a hint of tension or life in any of those strong, lean limbs Face knows so well, and Hannibal looks somehow both old and tired, the first hints of lines showing on his brow and by his closed eyes.

Face leans over the bed, careful not to disturb any of the IVs or monitors. Hannibal is breathing for himself, thank God, and so Face can press a gentle kiss to lax lips. “I love you,” he whispers again, and he holds his breath to see if his sleeping beauty might awaken.

And sure enough Hannibal does blink his beautiful blue eyes open, but not for another four long hours. Hours in which Face has sat silently, simply holding the hand of the man he loves.

* * *

Face never saw it coming, and when it did happen it felt like the worst kind of gut punch. 

He knew he really had no right at all to be upset, let alone angry or jealous. Just because he’d decided not to sleep around any longer, he had no right to expect the same from Hannibal. Just because he’d fallen in love with his colonel, just because he’d thought they were both happy and that Hannibal might even feel the same way, he had no right to assume anything.

But a part of him wanted to scream and shout, and throw the world’s biggest temper tantrum, perhaps throwing a punch or two at Hannibal at the same time. Another part of him wanted to curl up under a mountain of blankets and cry heartbroken tears, and yet another part wanted to just get spectacularly drunk and forget anything had ever happened. 

He had already been well on the way to getting drunk when he first spotted the two of them together, and so in the end he went for option three, though he doubted all the alcohol in the world could ever make him forget what he’d seen.

Heading home from a night out, leaving Murdock and BA in a karaoke bar murdering ‘Don’t Stop Believing’, the only thing on Face’s mind had been finding a cab and getting back to Hannibal’s house, where he could crawl into his colonel’s bed and wrap himself around that sleep-warm body he loved. Perhaps there even would be a round or two of morning sex when they woke up, so long as Face’s hangover wasn’t too horrific, but there would certainly be a lazy cooked breakfast sitting side by side with Hannibal and sharing the morning paper. Perfect.

There were no cabs to be had, typically, and Face was trudging wearily past seedy bars and rundown apartment blocks, the cool night air starting to sober him up, when he spotted the motel sign just up ahead. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it at all if it hadn’t been for the two men who suddenly stepped out of one of the rooms as he drew closer, embracing underneath a streetlight. 

Face’s first stunned thought was that one of them couldn’t possibly be Hannibal. It had to be someone else. Someone else who was well over six feet tall with shining silver hair and broad shoulders, wearing khaki pants and a black t-shirt. Face was just seeing what he wanted to see. He wanted Hannibal. And he’d been drinking, too, so he was imagining it was Hannibal when it really wasn’t.

Almost without thinking, Face slipped sideways into the shadow of a building as he kept watching, his heart suddenly racing for no good reason. The second man was shorter than the first, wearing a leather jacket over tight blue jeans, and he clung to the taller man almost desperately for a moment. It couldn’t be Hannibal, surely, but as Face watched they broke apart slightly and turned a little more into the light, apparently talking quietly, and his hopes were shattered into a thousand pieces. 

It was Hannibal, standing there with his hand resting on another man’s waist in a protective gesture Face knew all too well. It was Hannibal who ducked down to press what could only be a lingering kiss to another man’s cheek. It was Hannibal who pulled that other man back in for one final hug before turning reluctantly away, hands in his pockets as he headed away from Face and towards the base, and it was Hannibal who glanced back over his shoulder once before disappearing around the corner and out of sight.

For a brief, angry moment Face considered marching right over to the motel and grabbing the unknown man to demand some answers, or even chasing after Hannibal and tackling him to the ground. But as the man turned to go back into the room alone, and as Hannibal’s echoing footsteps faded away into the night, Face was stunned to find he couldn’t make his feet take even a single step. Could barely breathe, in fact. 

There could be no mistaking what he’d just witnessed, though he’d never imagined Hannibal would be the type to sleep with strange men in cheap motel rooms. He’d never imagined Hannibal sleeping around at all, not even in his darkest nightmares.

He clutched one hand to his chest – why the hell did his heart suddenly hurt so badly? They’d never said they were exclusive, never made each other any promises. Never spoken about their feelings at all. Hannibal wasn’t cheating on Face, Hannibal was just living his life the way he wanted, as he had every right to do. 

Face had spent so long convincing himself that he was happy as they were, and he’d actually believed it – he was in love with Hannibal, but for Hannibal it had clearly only been about sex for all these years. All the little signs Face thought he’d seen had only ever been in his imagination. He’d been nothing but a fool. 

He felt sick, his stomach twisting painfully as the anger faded away, and he managed to stumble into a pitch-black alley just in time to vomit all over the filthy floor. He coughed, retched a second time, then to his horror felt a sob choking him and tears stabbing the backs of his eyes. What the hell was he crying for? It shouldn’t matter to him what the fuck Hannibal did with his free time.

With a sudden jolt, Face remembered the way his colonel had received a phone call earlier that evening, Hannibal making his apologies before slipping quietly away from his team. Had that call been from this other man? A ‘booty call’? Surely Hannibal was better than that.

And why would Hannibal ever even think about doing that when he had Face ready and willing for whatever he wanted, at any time of the night or day? All Hannibal had to do was beckon and Face would be there, but clearly Face wasn’t enough. It seemed obvious now – how could he ever be enough for a man like Hannibal Smith?

So who the hell was this stranger, and what did he have that Face lacked? With that thought the anger came crashing back in a wave, and Face brushed quickly at the unwanted tears streaming down his cheeks, drawing himself up to his full height and taking a few deep breaths, feeling the alcohol rushing through his veins. Enough of the pathetic self-pity; he needed answers. He deserved answers.

He took two determined steps towards the motel before his mobile started to ring, the sound echoing far too loudly in the dark alley, and with a curse he fumbled to retrieve it from the depths of his jeans. It was Murdock, drunkenly demanding that Face get his ass back to the bar immediately, and as quickly as it had come the anger washed away again. A confrontation wouldn’t change the facts, after all.

No, Face would turn around and head back to find his friends, and he’d finish getting so spectacularly drunk that he wouldn’t even remember his own name. No banging on motel room doors, no pitiful moaning about why Hannibal didn’t love him. 

And then tomorrow, after the inevitable hangover from hell, Face decided there and then that he wouldn’t breathe a word about what he’d seen tonight. He knew there would be no way he could ever bring it up with Hannibal, and instead he would have to find some way to change the way he thought about their relationship. It was clearly still only about sex for his colonel, even after a decade together, and Face simply needed to find some way to get back to that mind-set himself. 

No more thoughts of love, or ‘happily-ever-after’. ‘Just sex’ had always been more than enough, and it would have to be enough once again.

But as he staggered away into the night, Face couldn’t help wonder if his pride would let him continue to just be a warm and willing hole for the older man, or if it would perhaps be far better for him to quit while he was ahead, before Hannibal grew tired of him altogether. 

* * *

Face is on his back on the bed, hands clutching at the headboard and moaning in pleasure as Hannibal bends him nearly in half. His knees are looped over Hannibal’s elbows and each powerful yet achingly slow thrust drives all the oxygen from his body. Each thrust also hits his sweet spot, and he’s so very close now – has been close for what feels like hours, actually, as Hannibal seems to be taking great pleasure in drawing this evening’s activities out for as long as he possibly can.

“Hannibal, please…” Face’s worries about whether this was a good idea have long since flown away and he is practically panting now, lightheaded and increasingly desperate for any sort of touch to his aching and neglected cock which bobs away in the gap between their sweat-slick bodies. “God, please, please…”

“Please what, kid?” Hannibal doesn’t even sound slightly out of breath, the bastard, though just one glance at his face shows he is far from unaffected. “Tell me what you need.”

“Please, sir… I can’t… Please, just let me come!”

With a roar, Hannibal’s thrusts suddenly pick up speed and Face finds his vision nearly whiting out as Hannibal seems to reach new depths inside his body. He can’t catch his breath at all, and his prostate is taking a delicious beating, and his orgasm crashes over him without any warning at all as he comes untouched, shooting all over his own stomach and chest.

Hannibal continues to fuck him right through his orgasm, beyond the point where Face becomes too tender and over-sensitive, though his thrusts slow back down once again. He lowers Face’s legs a fraction so the pressure on Face’s chest eases up, just enough to let him draw a few much-needed deep breathes rather than slipping into the waiting darkness, and he obediently gulps down as much oxygen as he can.

“Back with me, Face?” Hannibal’s voice is tense, though Face can hear a smile there too. “Ready for round two?”

And though Face should say no, should stop this all now, it’s somehow all he can do to peel his hands away from the headboard and wrap them around Hannibal’s shoulders as his lover continues to thrust, long and deep and god, how did Hannibal ever figure out just how much Face loves this? 

Can Face really find a way to live without this?

He squirms as much as he is allowed, whining high in the back of his throat as all his nerves feel as if they’ve been set on fire, and his ass is really far too sensitive for this, yet somehow he can feel his spent cock starting to fill once again.

“Bring it, boss,” he gasps, voice unsurprisingly hoarse, and Hannibal starts to gradually increase the speed of his thrusts again, grunting with the strain as he tries to hold back his own orgasm long enough to bring Face to his second.

Their twin gasps and grunts are all that can be heard for a long time as Hannibal starts to really pound into Face hard and fast, bending him in half again and stealing what remains of his breath with a fierce and possessive kiss. Face just about has enough brain cells left to be thankful the headboard is fixed into place so it can’t bang against the wall, before his second orgasm hits him, as unexpectedly as his first. 

This time he does black out, and when he drifts slowly back to reality he finds himself snuggled securely beneath a warm blanket with Hannibal stretched out close by his side, stroking one hand in gentle circles over his lower belly. He can feel that he’s been cleaned up, and he can also feel that he’ll be walking funny for a day or three, and he sighs softly as Hannibal leans in for a gentle kiss.

“You okay?” Hannibal asks softly, nuzzling his nose into Face’s temple. “You were out for a while. I was starting to worry.”

“I’m perfect,” Face manages to whisper, though his voice is hoarse and his throat slightly sore. He can blame that on the sex, rather than the threatening tears he can already feel. Love and heartbreak have turned him into such an emotional sap, damn it all to hell.

Hannibal just laughs fondly at his words, dropping another kiss onto his forehead before starting to climb out from beneath the blankets. “You are indeed. I’ll get you a glass of water. You just lie there and relax.”

Left alone in the bed, Face finds his post-orgasmic haze disappears in a flash as he suddenly wonders if Hannibal had fucked that other man in just this same manner, and he has to bite his lower lip hard to keep the tears at bay. He hadn’t come here looking for this, in fact he’d promised himself he would say no, after seeing Hannibal coming out of that motel room two nights ago. He’d decided that he would pull back from their undefinable relationship, and just be friends and team-mates from here on. No more sex. Face had more self-respect than that.

But Hannibal had been in a rare playful mood once BA and Murdock had left for the night, and Face had felt his determination crumbling rapidly. One last time then, he’d told himself, just to say ‘goodbye’, if he could.

Now, thinking of that other man in that other bedroom – or even, god forbid, in this very bed – it really does feel over. He’ll still see Hannibal every day, of course, but Face decides there and then that he will never sleep with the man again, and he’ll have to find a way to push his love aside. 

“I’ll be stronger from now on,” he whispers to himself, trying to harden his heart. “No more.”

* * *

Face had never expected it to be as difficult as it was, though perhaps he should have known it wouldn’t be just as simple as no longer having sex with Hannibal. Trying to build some distance back into their relationship was almost impossible, as they really did naturally sit side by side at every opportunity, and Hannibal touched him a dozen times a day with a dozen innocent little gestures. A friendly clasp to Face’s shoulder. A pat on the back when a job was well done. A casual hand brushing dust from a well-worn shirt.

All the little gestures Face had thought might mean something but clearly didn’t, not if Hannibal was fucking strange men in anonymous motel rooms. He could hardly bear to imagine it, though his mind helpfully kept coming up with hideous little scenarios. Perhaps Hannibal had kissed the other man first before encouraging him down and around onto his hands and knees. Or perhaps they’d been face to face. Perhaps they’d only had time for a hand job, or perhaps they’d been there for hours, exploring each other’s bodies. 

Face even found himself wondering if Hannibal had gone in search of something he simply wasn’t getting from Face. Perhaps the colonel had a secret need to be dominated, though Face certainly hadn’t complained when Hannibal had allowed himself to be tied to the bed that one time. 

Perhaps it was whips and chains and some kind of sex dungeon, or perhaps it was something even kinkier, though Face considered himself pretty open minded – they’d tried a few things over the years, on the rare occasions they’d had time and energy to play, and he’d hoped Hannibal would feel he could ask if there was something he wanted to try. 

He’d even wondered if Hannibal had needed to be topped for once, and that particular thought made his chest feel painfully tight. Hannibal had asked Face for that only once, a few short months ago, and even though it wasn’t something Face had particularly been craving, he’d still felt the weight of trust that Hannibal had placed in him by bringing it up at all. Perhaps Face simply hadn’t been good enough. In so many ways.

Whatever the reason, Face knew he needed to pull back from their not-relationship for his own sanity. He might not have a lot of self-confidence outside his Ranger skills, but he knew he deserved more than to just always be Hannibal’s second choice of partner. As comfortable and as very much in love with Hannibal as he was, it somehow wasn’t enough anymore, not without being loved in return. 

Strangely enough, Face found that the sex was by far the easiest thing to put an end to. It was easy to find excuses not to stay late at Hannibal’s house when they were back on base, and also easy to find reasons to share a tent with Murdock or BA when they were in the field. Hannibal had looked confused the first few times, then almost resigned, and after a few weeks he’d stopped dropping hints altogether. 

They kept it professional, quite impressively, and Face felt some sort of twisted pride in the way neither of their other two team mates noticed anything was wrong. Or, if they had noticed something, they weren’t concerned enough to ask. That was how it should be, Face told himself as he buried himself deep in his job. It had only been sex for Hannibal, and now the sex was over there was only the team left, and their work.

But those little touches from Hannibal continued, particularly between missions, and Face always felt each one land with the stinging heat of an acid burn even through his layers of clothing. He wondered how he had let himself fall so far in love with Hannibal that he couldn’t even bear the other man’s touch, not now he knew that those strong hands had touched another man in the way he’d thought they’d only touched him. Which was utterly and totally stupid, he reminded himself yet again, because they’d never made each other any promises.

Face didn’t have the right to feel betrayed, yet he did.

And he was still in love with the man, damn it, despite his efforts to convince himself he wasn’t.

After Face had twitched away from his colonel’s touch for what felt like the hundredth time one particular morning, for the first time Murdock had spoken up, asking in his usual jokey manner if Face was okay. Face had mumbled something about sunburn – an outright lie, since they’d been in an uncharacteristically cloudy Georgia for the last week – and he’d accidentally caught Hannibal’s eye as the words left his mouth.

The colonel had looked crushed for a single heartbeat, before he’d quickly plastered on a false smile and turned away.

Those little touches stopped altogether after that, and Face was shocked to find that was somehow so much worse. 

* * *

Face can’t stop shivering, and all his attempts to strip out of his soaking wet clothes are foiled by his traitorously trembling hands. “A little help?” he croaks, and immediately Hannibal is there kneeling in front of him, hands outstretched as if going to unzip Face’s jacket for him.

But Hannibal pauses, pulls his hands back, and meets Face’s eyes for a brief moment before turning away to call over his shoulder. “Murdock, get your ass over here!”

Face is confused, chilled to the bone now and just needing to be warm. And preferably held. “Boss?”

“You hurt, kid?” Hannibal’s words are soft and steady, his face a carefully blank mask, though his hands twitch as if wanting to reach out to Face. “Or just cold?”

“Cold. Really cold.” His teeth are chattering, and a full-body shiver wracks him, nearly toppling him sideways as Murdock skids over on his knees to land by his side, warm hands catching him and holding him up. “Hannibal…”

“Easy there, buddy.” Murdock’s eyes are concerned and confused as he looks quickly between their colonel and his lieutenant, though he immediately goes to work stripping away Face’s sodden layers with steady hands. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

Hannibal moves back and stands up, burying his hands safely in his pockets. “Get him in a hot shower, captain,” he tells Murdock firmly, not meeting Face’s eyes as he turns away. “BA and I’ll handle clean-up.”

* * *

Everything went completely to hell soon afterwards, and for the first time all Face’s plans seemed destined to end in abject failure. More importantly than even that was the fact that even Hannibal’s plans had failed them all – Iraq happened, and the shit-storm with the plates, and then Black Forest and Russell Morrison, and in a heartbeat the team were stripped of their ranks and sentenced to long years in jail.

And Face suddenly found himself separated from Hannibal and his two best friends, forced to try to find ways to cope alone for the first time since his teenage years.

It was easy enough to put a brave face on everything, and to charm and con his way through the day-to-day drudgery of prison life. It wasn’t about who he knew, after all, it was about how he knew them, and a decade of making friends and doing favours for people in high places had left Face with a fair few strings he could pull to make his life a little more comfortable. 

That was the least the Army owed him, he thought viciously, after all his years of loyal and dedicated service.

He pulled a few more strings to make sure BA and Murdock were being taken care of too, keeping both of them as safe as he could while being as far away as he was. He also kept a distant eye on Hannibal, though Face knew their colonel was more than capable of taking care of himself. Truth be told, he simply didn’t want to look too closely, to know if Hannibal had found someone to warm his bed on those long, lonely prison nights.

Face flirted with the female guards, knowing he still had a reputation to keep up, though he didn’t sleep with any of them. Even before Iraq, even in the months since he’d stopped having sex with Hannibal, he’d not been with anyone else. Not even been tempted. For all that he told himself he didn’t love Hannibal anymore, it was still the older man’s touch he craved, and no one else would ever come close.

When Hannibal finally came for him, six long months after they had been separated, Face was so mad that he actually fought his colonel briefly. He never stood a chance of winning, of course, nor a chance of resisting when Hannibal said how much he needed Face. His heart had skipped a beat the moment he’d seen Hannibal standing outside his tanning booth, and god he’d forgotten how handsome the older man really was, and how bright those blue eyes shone in the early evening light.

After they’d freed BA, before they hopped a flight to Germany to fetch Murdock, Face had even given in to the need to press himself tightly up against Hannibal as they sat in a tiny booth in a restaurant. Being so close to the man he still loved was both the greatest form of pleasure and the highest level of pain, and Face hated himself for leaning in even closer against Hannibal’s strong shoulder rather than pulling away, breathing in the familiar scent of the man he’d missed so much more than he realised.

Things went to hell all over again after the LA docks, and in a dizzying turn of events the team found themselves on the run and in hiding. At least the four of them were together, Face told himself firmly, even as he tried to plan some way to clear their names. Charissa would help if she could, he knew, after she’d slipped him that handcuff key back at the docks, though the team all decided their best bet was to lay low for a while and let the immediate heat of the chase fade away.

Of course, laying low meant being trapped in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere with very few distractions, and of course Face couldn’t avoid Hannibal forever.

* * *

Footsteps on the deck behind him, and Face immediately knows that it’s Hannibal coming to talk to him even before the colonel says quietly, “So this is where you’re hiding, kid.” 

“Not hiding, boss.” He shrugs, refusing to turn and look at the other man, keeping his gaze fixed on the view of the distant mountains. “Just thinking.”

“Any plans yet?”

Face wishes he did have some kind of an idea, but, as much as it pains him, he has to admit, “Nope. Not a one.”

Hannibal moves to stand next to him, leaning his elbows on the railing in mimicry of Face’s own pose, though he keeps a careful few inches of distance between their bodies. Might as well be miles, Face thinks bitterly, both glad of it and hating it at the same time. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll figure it out, somehow. I promise.”

The colonel sounds defeated, almost, and that’s just plain wrong. Face remembers standing close by Hannibal outside another broken-down cabin, asking if Hannibal could do what Morrison had done, and he feels ashamed of his own words back then. He knows Hannibal would fix everything if he could, and suddenly his heart is hurting once more.

“You really never did see it coming, did you?” he whispers, stealing a sideways glance at Hannibal out of the corner of his eye, surprised to see blue eyes watching him intently rather than focussing on the view. “None of it.”

“No, Face. I never saw it coming at all.” The colonel leans closer, closing those few inches until their shoulders brush against each other, and Face jerks up and away without a thought, taking a few steps towards the cabin to put some distance back between them. Hannibal huffs a pained laugh, turning back to the mountains. “Sorry. I forgot. Won’t happen again.”

And Face just feels so sick and tired of everything. He longs to embrace Hannibal tightly and let himself be taken to bed and comforted, but he can’t just fall back into the other man’s arms, not even now. Not when he’s spent so long trying to protect himself. Not when he knows Hannibal doesn’t love him. “Hannibal, I – ”

“It’s okay, Face. You don’t have to say anything. I see how it is, and I’ve known for a while.” Hannibal shrugs, sighs. “I’ll figure out a way to get you back with Sosa, I promise.”

“Sosa?” Face is suddenly incredulous, disbelieving. “You think I want to get back with her?”

“Don’t you?” Hannibal turns to face him, leaning back against the railing and burrowing his hands into his pockets. His gaze is piercing, though Face can see a hint of buried pain there too. “That’s why you pulled away from me back then. Didn’t have the courage to tell me to my face, but I always knew you wanted her back.”

“You think that’s the reason? That I just gave up on us?” Face can hardly believe what he’s hearing. “Hannibal, I never wanted anyone but you. I stopped sleeping around altogether, and Charissa means nothing to me, never really did. Even that kiss on the docks was just a way to get the handcuff key. All those months ago I had to pull back from whatever the hell we were because you – ”

He stops himself, barely, biting his lip hard and shaking his head as he can feel anger starting to coil deep in his belly. 

Hannibal just looks lost, confused. “What, Face? What did I do wrong?”

At those quiet questions Face’s anger breaks free, as it was always going to do. 

Everything comes rushing out at last, the words practically tripping over each other as they leave his mouth. “I saw you that night, coming out of that motel, with that man. I know you kissed him, and hugged him, and I know I never meant anything more to you than just a convenient fuck, so I’m sure there must have been others, but you meant so much more to me than that and I had too much fucking pride to let you just keep using me for sex.”

As quickly as they came, the words run dry and Face finds himself shaking his head again, panting as he runs both hands back through his hair, knotting them together at the back of his neck and growling in frustration rather than clenching his fists. He suddenly wants to lash out, to make Hannibal hurt in the same way Face has been hurting all this time, but that’s absolutely not a sensible idea.

“Face, is that what you really feel? How could you think I would ever…?” Hannibal looks as if he might be sick, and even brings a hand up to cover his mouth. “God, kid, you don’t understand anything, do you?”

Hannibal’s words are somehow the very last straw, and sensible is overrated, so Face gives in and surges forwards with a shout, throwing an uncoordinated punch at the patronising, oblivious bastard in front of him. But Hannibal catches his fist easily in his larger hand, using Face’s own momentum to swing him around and push him gently back towards the cabin without missing a beat.

Immediately, Face stumbles to a stop and turns to swing again, this time forcing Hannibal to duck and sidestep to avoid being hit. “Face, I don’t want to hurt you,” the colonel says quietly, an edge of warning in his voice even as he holds up his hands in what is meant to be a peaceful gesture. It looks wrong to Face, and the absurdity of the whole situation hits him hard.

What the hell are they fighting for? All they have left now is the team and each other, and this is hardly the time to dredge through the ashes of their doomed personal relationship.

Face can’t help but laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, laughing so hard that he ends up bent nearly double with his hands braced on his knees. He’s vaguely aware that he must look completely unhinged, vaguely aware of Hannibal taking an aborted step in his direction, hands still open and raised, and he quickly throws up a hand of his own to halt the other man in his tracks. 

“Too fucking late for that, colonel,” he manages to gasp eventually, swallowing the last of his laughter and leaning on the railing briefly to steady himself. 

“Face, please listen…”

“No. Just… no.” He can’t do this, refuses to have this conversation or fight or whatever the hell it is. He pushes off from the railing and throws his hands in the air before spinning on his heel to stalk away past Hannibal and back into the cabin. “You think I don’t understand?” he spits over his shoulder as he goes. “I understand everything. Now do us both a favour and leave me the fuck alone.”

* * *

There was nowhere to go, of course, and Face had never felt so claustrophobic in his entire life. He paced in endless semicircles around the narrow bed he’d been sharing with Murdock since they’d ended up here more than a week ago. The plan, such as it was, had been to hide out here for a month or more, living off the land as they’d been trained to do, while they figured out their next move, but Face suddenly felt as if the walls and the mountains were all pressing down on him, and he could hardly breathe, the remnants of his frustrated anger and hurt still thrumming through his veins.

He couldn’t stay there, not now. Perhaps the time had come to make a clean break after all, and to strike out on his own. He was the conman of the team, and if any of them had a chance of starting fresh with a new, false identity, then it would be him. He could run, now, straight out the window and no one would be any the wiser. They wouldn’t miss him.

But as soon as he thought about actually doing it, about leaving the three men he was closer to than any family he might once have had, Face knew he would never go. How could he leave his two crazy brothers now, and his colonel?

Hannibal. God, why was Face still in love with the man, even after everything? 

Face’s nervous energy suddenly ran out, and he slumped down sideways onto the bed as exhaustion rushed in to take its place, the bedsprings creaking ominously under his weight as he lifted his feet up. He hadn’t been sleeping well, particularly not with Murdock squirming away beside him in the bed every night, and perhaps a catnap would be a good idea. He could pretend he’d never had that ridiculous fight with Hannibal. Could pretend that he hadn’t said everything he’d never intended to, and pretend that Hannibal hadn’t been quite such a patronising git in return.

So, Hannibal thought Face didn’t understand anything. 

It was Hannibal who didn’t understand.

At least Face could comfort himself with the fact that he still hadn’t actually told Hannibal he loved him. The other man would probably just have laughed in his face. 

He didn’t remember closing his eyes, though the next time Face blinked the room was dark and a warm blanket had been draped carefully over him. He sat up and fumbled clumsily on the bedside table for a match, eventually managing to light the lantern which stood ready and waiting – not for the first time he wondered what hellish kind of place this was where there was no electricity, let alone any hot water they hadn’t had to boil themselves. 

And his eyes fell immediately on the folded paper resting by the lantern, with his name written in an all-too-familiar scrawl. Settling back into the thin pillows and tugging the blanket back up to his chest, Face nervously unfolded the note and began to read.

* * *

Face,

We need to talk, but we don’t do that, do we? So I’ll write some of this down and hope you read it rather than tearing it into pieces. And if you want to talk afterwards, then I’ll try to answer your questions. If not, then I’ll understand.

It took me a while, but I finally remembered the night you must have been talking about, and the man you saw me with. I have no idea how you could have seen me with David, but let me explain who he is. David and I had been involved for a time, long before I ever met you, and we’d kept in touch on occasion over the years. On that particular night he called me in tears saying his partner had thrown him out and that he was going to kill himself. 

I spent the evening in his motel room, calming him down and sobering him up. Yes, I hugged him when I left, and yes, I kissed him on the cheek. I didn’t want to leave him but he’d insisted he would be fine, and thankfully he was. He’s married now to a wonderful man named James, and they even have an adopted daughter named Erica, my goddaughter.

I hadn’t been with anyone for months before the first time I had sex with you, and I have never had sex with anyone else since that night. I felt guilty that I had taken advantage of you, but you kept coming back to me, and I let myself enjoy what you offered without ever asking for more. You were so young then, and so full of life – I never wanted to tie you down.

I knew you’d stopped sleeping around, and by then I knew I was in love with you, though I had never planned on falling in love. I thought maybe you were in love with me too, and I was happy. We had our work and we had each other, and I didn’t see how things could be any better.

Then everything changed between us, and I never knew until today why that was. I thought you had finally figured out that you didn’t want a washed-up old colonel when you could have someone younger and more beautiful. I thought you wanted your clever Lieutenant Sosa, or had found someone new. I thought you wanted a relationship you didn’t have to hide. 

I never thought you might think for a moment that I didn’t want you. I did, and I do, but I never said it. I should have said it, maybe.

We don’t talk, and I know why we don’t: we’re both Rangers and we’re trained not to. We’re told emotions are a sign of weakness, and that we have to be strong. Perhaps we’re already past the point of no return, but I still love you, kid, and I always will. You’re beautiful and clever and brave and generous, and I’ll never regret our time together, even if you don’t see any way we can make this work now we’re all so deep in the shit.

I know you. I know you’ll be thinking of leaving us, of leaving me, and I hope you don’t. Stay with me and we’ll work everything out. I promise.

* * *

There was no signature at the bottom of the note. There didn’t need to be, of course, and Face felt his heart was racing almost to the point of bursting out of his chest as he read through Hannibal’s words for the third time, squinting slightly in the flickering light from the lantern. He saw the most heartfelt truths written in those scrawled words, and could almost imagine how hard it must have been for Hannibal to write everything down like this.

Easier than speaking it aloud, though. This was a conversation they could never have had.

Face realised abruptly that he’d spent all this time feeling angry and jealous of a man who had needed Hannibal’s help. And of course Hannibal wouldn’t be the man Face loved if he had left his former lover alone in that motel room that night without even a backwards glance. He even remembered Hannibal mentioning little Erica on rare occasions.

Could they have talked about it all sooner? Should Face have realised that there could have been other explanations for what he’d seen that night? And should they have hashed this all out back then, whether with fists or stuttered questions and hesitant answers? Far too late for regrets, of course, and Face found his eyes drifting repeatedly back over one particular sentence written in Hannibal’s untidy handwriting, the words cutting deep – were they really past the point of no return, or was there some way back, even now?

No. Sadly there could be no going back, Face knew that in his heart. They could only go forwards, and the only important question now was whether he and Hannibal could move forwards together or if they did so separately, with team bonds the only thing holding them together rather than the love they clearly both still felt for each other.

It would hurt, but they could make it work apart. They had already been making it work before Iraq, just barely, but Face knew almost immediately that wasn’t what he wanted. It clearly wasn’t what Hannibal wanted either.

Life was too short, and far too precious. The Rangers had taught Face that much, if nothing else.

Carefully, Face folded the note back up and placed it safely back on the bedside table, knowing it would be something he would always treasure. Then, before he could overthink what he was doing, he threw back the blanket and scrambled to his feet, flinging open the door to the tiny bedroom and hurrying through to what passed as the living area of their current ‘home’.

There was a kitchen area in one corner, and a battered table, chairs and sofa filling the rest of the space. An open fire was burning merrily in the grate, and the room was warm and surprisingly homely. Murdock and BA were tripping over each other in the confined kitchen space, joking around as they gutted what appeared to be a couple of hares for the team’s dinner, while Hannibal was slumped into one corner of the sofa smoking a cigar. 

To anyone else the colonel would have appeared to be a man perfectly at ease with his world, though to Face’s knowing gaze Hannibal was actually a bundle of nervous tension.

Sharp blue eyes locked immediately with Face’s across the room, and the air suddenly seemed to grow thin as Murdock and BA fell silent at some unspoken cue, casting curious glances back over their shoulders at both Hannibal and Face. 

As Face watched, unable to tear his gaze away from Hannibal for even a second, the colonel took a long, deliberate drag on his cigar before placing it carefully down on the saucer he was using as an ashtray, and quirked one eyebrow up in question, the flickering firelight casting his face in shadows. 

“Do you want to talk, Face?” Hannibal asked, his voice carefully controlled and showing no sign of the nerves Face could just about see in those blue, blue eyes.

And there was suddenly no doubt left at all in Face’s mind. “No more talking,” he replied, hearing his own voice tremble ever so slightly. “Words are overrated, and we’ve wasted enough time.”

With three long strides he was across the room and kneeling on the sofa astride Hannibal’s lap, kissing the older man with everything he had. He slid his hands up to stroke through Hannibal’s silvery hair, and Hannibal’s strong arms slid around Face’s waist in return, hauling him closer as he hungrily kissed Face back. 

Face dimly registered the cat-calls and wolf-whistles from the other half of their team, though all he could do was smile contentedly into Hannibal’s kisses as the desperation in both of them faded to something closer to love, and Hannibal’s grasping hands grew tender rather than needy. Things between them weren’t magically fixed, Face understood that much, and they still might need to have that awkward conversation they should have had years ago.

But as they finally broke apart and he ducked his head to hide his face happily against Hannibal’s neck, feeling warm lips pressed to his temple in a tender kiss, Face knew that at last they were on the right track. 

* * *

This time they are making love face to face, just the way Face always prefers. This way they can stare into each other’s eyes as Hannibal drives deeper and deeper into Face’s welcoming body, Face’s legs wrapped around his lover’s waist and his arms wrapped around strong shoulders as he strokes teasingly over as much bare skin as he can possibly reach.

It isn’t always like this, not even now, after everything they’ve been through. Sometimes they go at each other hard and fast, just as they’d always done in thin tents in the middle of the desert. Sometimes, after a job gone wrong, they find each other’s bruises and scrapes and claw at them possessively, needing the reminder that they are alive and safe in the other’s hands. Sometimes they still find they haven’t enough time to explore each other’s bodies as thoroughly as they’d like, even though they both know every inch of skin and every fading pink scar on the other’s muscular body.

Sometimes they don’t make love at all, preferring to simply fall asleep in each other’s arms, both of them secure in their feelings now without ever saying the words. 

Some things don’t change, Face thinks to himself with a happy smile, even as Hannibal groans above him and moves deeper within him, and their sweat-slick bodies glide together in a series of moves that never grows old, and never will. 

It is making love, rather than just having sex.

It still isn’t romantic, though, whatever they have between them, and it never will be. Even if they can finally stop running one day, Face somehow can’t see the two of them settling down in a house with a white picket fence and a couple of dogs. But he loves this man just the same, and now he knows for certain that he is loved in return. Life doesn’t get much better than this.

They never did have that conversation. Some days, Face feels they really should talk about it all, about the assumptions he had incorrectly made and the fact that Hannibal had just let him go rather than fighting to keep him, but that isn’t who they are. It isn’t important, either, not here and now. Perhaps once the Army finally stops chasing them, some day in the distant and unknowable future, then maybe they’ll have an open and honest conversation about it all. 

Perhaps not.

For now, Face had said everything he needed to say in that one burst of anger and hurt, back in one of their very first safe houses. Hannibal, in return, had said everything he needed to in that little handwritten note; the note that Face still keeps carefully safe and protected, wrapped in a waterproof bag and slipped inside his old bible. 

And as Hannibal’s hips start to move a little faster, pounding deeper and deeper into Face as both of them soar rapidly towards their peaks, Face has just enough brain cells working to acknowledge that he could never have planned the twists and turns his life has taken, all those years back when he first signed up for the Rangers. But by God, life is good, and love is wonderful, and Face wouldn’t change a single damn thing.


End file.
